


when we got so close, so close to love;

by starkrogerrs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Could be a series if everyone said yes, Enemies to Lovers, Hunter!Steve Rogers, M/M, Mention of Satan, POV Tony, Pining and Confusion, Supernatural Elements, Witch! Tony, Witchcraft, stockholm syndrome maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 11:51:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkrogerrs/pseuds/starkrogerrs
Summary: "You're lucky that you have a pretty face, hunter," Tony adds, when he says nothing. "Or I would've slaughtered you long ago."In which, Tony Stark, a witch, is taken captive by a blue-eyed man who calls himself Steven Rogers.





	when we got so close, so close to love;

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously I suck at summaries. But, I love this idea with all of my heart and hope I did it justice through the words you're about to read. A huge shoutout to oluka and plonid on tumblr for reading through my numerous drafts. Y'all are simply the best <3

The cell reeks of animal carcass, damp wood and terrifying unfamiliarity. Tony can hear the skittle of spiders across the walls, a welcome sound amidst the deafening silence. 

A light breeze swoops into the chamber, and Tony draws his robes closer around himself. 

Tony is used to the darkness, but not the kind that goes on for days on end, with no relief in sight. 

Murmuring ancient words under his breath, he waves his hand through the freezing air. 

He is greeted by the same, silent void. 

A loud clang echoes through the chamber. The door of the cell opens, flooding it with white light, and in spite of the fact that he needs the light so desperately, he finds himself shielding his eyes against it. 

The light is gone as quickly as it had come. He hears the crunch of feet on the stone floor and a soft click, as fire bursts into the room, flooding it warm amber. 

"Food for today," says the man from behind the flaming torch, as he stoops down to place a wooden plate before him. 

Tony doesn't know if it is the hunger that is making him see differently, but the food looks absolutely ravishing. 

"What coven do you belong to?"

They have been through this before. Three days in a row in fact. Tony would've almost called it their little game. 

He doesn't answer, reaching out to the plate, but the hunter draws it back. At least, he _assumes_ the man is a witch hunter, given the circumstances. 

"What coven do you belong to?" he repeats. 

Tony lifts his head to gaze at the hunter. Icy blue eyes that seem almost green when reflecting the yellow flame, greet him. 

"Why am I here?" he retorts, choosing to ignore his question as always. 

Two days he had said nothing, and the hunter had merely taken his food away and not returned until the next night. 

Not a muscle on the man's face moves as he gazes at him steadily. 

"You're lucky that you have a pretty face, hunter," Tony adds, when he says nothing. "Or I would've slaughtered you long ago."

Truth be told, Tony is terrified. He has no idea what the man's intentions are with him, there is no way he can guard himself against whatever the man has planned for him. He can't, however you, let him know that. 

"You can't move a hair on my skin, witch," the hunter murmurs through gritted teeth. 

The flame cackles between them as they stare each other down, and Tony is all too aware that their breaths are not synchronous. 

"I am looking for someone," the hunter finally admits. Something flickers across his features for a moment and then it is gone. 

Tony huffs, unamused. "I can assure you that it isn't me."

"I haven't told you who I am looking for, yet."

"You don't need to. I know you're not looking for me."

The hunter glances at him irritably, a single muscle clenching in his jaw. They say nothing for a moment. 

The hunter stands up then, but not before pushing the plate towards Tony and placing the torch into one of the holders in the wall; and is gone. 

*

Tony has never missed Jarvis, his familiar as much as he does at this moment. The looming darkness dulls against the ache of missed company. 

The hunter - Steven, he has learned- visits frequently now. They have the same conversation everyday but that doesn't stop the man from trying again. Steven grills him at an increasing degree everyday, but hasn't resorted to physical torture. _Yet_. 

He's had days to prepare himself for the worst, to talk a bargain if he can. Because here, in the dusty cell, he is completely at Steven's mercy. 

To infuriate him more, he has learnt next to nothing about the hunter, save for the fact that he is looking for someone. A witch. A witch that is not him. 

His powers still don't work; the familiar tingle in his body as he chants spells that have been engraved in his mind, is now fainter than ever. There must be some sort of spell over the cell to render him powerless, he is sure of that. 

Tony wonders if Steven had used and perhaps, _killed_ another witch to have the place warded. 

An all too familiar clang shocks him out of his thoughts and he backs up against the wall feebly. By his calculations, it is almost an hour past midnight and definitely not the time for another visit from the hunter. 

The door opens and Steven stumbles in; bent over and almost collapses before him. Tony blinks against the light as he leaps forward involuntarily. 

"What in the Heaven..," he murmurs to himself. 

A large cut runs across Steven's front, extending from his left shoulder to the middle of his belly. His torn shirt clings on to his sweat covered torso as he heaves, struggling to breathe. 

"I-I was attacked," Steve manages throatily. "By- by a werewolf."

For a moment, a sickening sense of pleasure rushes through Tony. He forgets that there is a dying man before him. The door of the cell, wide open and inviting, beckons to him. "_Run away_," it whispers. 

"Please-," Steven whispers, reaching out to grasp Tony's arm. "-please, help me."

Even as he speaks, blood pools beneath the hunter. 

Despite the fact that relations between mortals (most hunters included) and witches have improved significantly over the last decade, Tony doesn't know if he should even consider helping his captor. His captor, a man of whom he knows so little. 

Steven squeezes his arm again, his face beaded with sweat and dirt. "P-please."

"My magic doesn't work here," Tony finds himself saying, even though his obvious choice should be to rush out the dingy cell and never see it again. 

"Out.. side," Steven croaks, gasping as he tightens his grip on Tony's arm. 

Tony doesn't think twice, all second thoughts leaving his mind at once. His coven was unlike most black witch covens. They believed in treating humans with respect, helping them in dire situations. When he had been baptized to become a witch, he had also taken an oath as a healer to always save those in need, no matter the species. Torn as he was, about helping someone who was possibly a witch hunter, he had to help him. 

Steven was a mortal first, after all. 

That very oath rings in his ears as he removes his robe and tears a long strip from the hem. Wrapping the cloth around the wound as gingerly as possible, he helps Steven sit up. Then, he pulls Steven's left arm around his shoulders and hauls them outside. 

For a moment, as soon as they step outside, he freezes. He feels his body buzz as the spell instantly lifts, primordial magic flowing through his veins again. 

Steven guides Tony to a small room leading off of the landing. A row of fire against the wall of the room, illuminates what looks like a mini infirmary. He gently sets Steven onto the tiny bed in the far corner, and checks his pulse. His breathing is ragged and Tony can feel him burning up against his skin. 

He eases Steven out of his already torn shirt. There are tiny cuts everywhere, a million paper cuts if you will, that probably hurt more than the actual wound itself. 

Tony chants spells that heal the paper cuts easily but the large gash across his front is persistent. It runs deep, cutting into his flesh and right to the bones. Two smaller, but equally deep gashes flank the larger one. Some of the torn skin hangs loosely at the edges, as more blood continues to ooze out. 

Tony has never seen a more gruesome sight. He can tell that it, most definitely, is the mark of a werewolf. 

How Steven managed to walk home with his guts spilling out, Tony will never know. 

In his desperation to help the man, Tony reaches over to the array of herbs and plants stocked up on the shelves behind him and concoct the quickest healing potion. Steven groans behind him, and Tony can almost sense that his heart is giving out. He summons whatever plants he can remember and mixes them together before rushing over to Steven. 

He cleans up as much of the blood he can, so as to save the wound from being infected. 

"This might hurt," he advises, before pressing the paste onto the wound. 

Steve screams in agony, reaching over to clutch Tony's arm. He flinches as his nails dig into his skin, but continues to spread the paste around. The blood flow has slowed down but if Tony doesn't act fast, he knows that it would kill him. The paste can only do so much. 

Summoning magic that is as old as time itself, he chants a spell he's never used before. Before he can even complete it, the wound starts to glow white. Tony can feel the familiar tug in his gut as he continues to whisper the spell, Steve's grip still firm on his arm. 

There is a blinding flash as he finishes and the world comes to a stand still. 

Tony's eyes flutter open as he leans against the wall, panting. Three angry red lines still run down Steve's chest but the skin has stitched itself. The hunter's passed out but is fortunately alive. 

Tony saved him. His captor. It was his duty to help him, and it seemed like the right thing to do in spite of everything. He's done more than his share for the hunter and now that he's asleep, he can finally make a break for it. 

The thought exhilarates him. 

Despite his powers being feeble at the moment, he rushes out of the room, but not before he casts the hunter one, last look. His features seem gaunt, which is natural, considering that he has just been on the brink of death; ghost-like skin caked with dust, hands greasy and bloody. 

Tony tears his gaze away from the man then, the thought of escaping clouding his mind already. Adrenaline courses through him, heart beating wildly at his chest at the thought of freedom. At the thought of seeing familiar faces again. He almost grins as he reaches the main door and yanks it open.

Cool, midnight wind sweeps towards him and sends shivers down his spine but the euphoria of freedom keeps him warm. He steps outside, a little too excitedly, grin plastered on his face but is immediately flung backward into the hallway and lands on his back with a thud. 

He groans, feeling pain shoot up his back from the rough landing. Thankfully, nothing seems to be broken. 

A force-field spell. 

"Absolutely _brilliant_," Tony mutters angrily as he sits up. _Trapped_. He is truly trapped. His captor, who he just healed in an act of stupid nobility is asleep and he can do nothing except wait. He almost wants to go back to the hunter and slit his throat, even though he's never, in all of his years on the planet taken a life. 

White hot anger burns through him. 

Having used most of his magic on the healing spell, he cannot even attempt to break the spell that surrounds the house. The spell, he realises, must be the work of a white witch. 

He slams his fist into the ground, frustrated at how pathetic and helpless he feels.

In the face of spending a lifetime trapped with a hunter of all people, death seems like the most welcome choice. 

*

Tony wakes to find Steven sitting up on the bed, looking less gray than he had just a few hours ago.

Dejected, Tony had set up camp in the infirmary and fallen asleep by the table. 

"You healed me," Steven says raspily and moves to stand up. His wounds, although closed, must still hurt because he falls right back onto the bed with a loud groan. 

Tony walks over to help him ease back into the bed, hand gripping his back. The gash across his front, although stitched, is still an angry red and the skin around it seems to be infected. 

"Why?" Steven whispers, and Tony is forced to ask himself the same question. _Why _did he ever take that oath? It had forced him to help a hunter. Satan knew his kind would hate him forever.. 

"You need to rest," he whispers, ignoring the hunter's question altogether. He falters as Steven reaches over to grip his hand. From what he can gather, Tony knows that he must be in incredible pain. 

Tony goes over his options. The only two options that swirl in his head over and over. He can either leave Steven to die and hope that the spell breaks once he does or he can help him heal and ask for freedom in exchange for his service.

Helping a witch hunter of all people would definitely be frowned upon by his coven. But his magic is still weak, (he had hoped it would return once he was awake, but to no avail) and he's not sure if he can force Steven to set him free. He has noticed the strange symbols on Steven's arm and back; symbols he doesn't recognise. Who knows what spells against witches his body is warded by. 

Resigned to his fate, Tony decides that the latter of the two choices is a better and more probable option. Maybe, just maybe, Steven was of the benevolent kind and would hear him out. It was a risk he'd have to take, otherwise, once he had learnt what Steven had planned on doing with him, he'd think over the more..._ dire _options. 

Steven looks up at him then, blue steel meeting warm brown and Tony has to look away when something spikes inside him, hot and strong. He frees his hand from Steven's grasp, as the latter looks on. 

"You need to rest," he repeats, gulping, as he turns to grab some of the paste he had made before. 

*

"I don't generally do this _free_ of charge," Tony muses, handing Steven - _Steve -_ the bowl of soup, prepared from whatever the hunter had stocked in his kitchen. 

Steve laughs through his nose as he sips the soup, moaning as it warms his throat. 

Tony knows that he should be hating Steve. That he should be poisoning the soup that's brewing before him, knows that he should run away from someone who could possibly be his mortal enemy. 

And yet, he can not bring himself to. Satan damn him but he can not. It isn't because Steve is just so bloody gorgeous, although he does admit he'd love to bed him if he weren't his captor. But he doesn't know what it is either. 

Steve's dependent on him now, because he isn't fully healed yet. It is exactly what he had wanted; to ask Steve for freedom when he was most vulnerable. And yet, Tony finds himself straying from that very thought and showing Steve concern no hunter deserves. 

The hunter has given him access to the entire house but he is still bound, unable to contact his coven or his familiar or anything that is not Steve. 

His magic, to add to his misery, continues to remain at sub par levels. 

"You want freedom," Steve comments, as if reading Tony's thoughts and walks over to place the bowl into the kitchen sink. 

"_Glad_ you noticed," Tony chides, his white knuckled hand grasping at the spoon handle tightly. 

Steve hums, and there it is again; that swooping feeling inside Tony's stomach that raises a million red flags in his head. 

"My mother was murdered by a witch."

The shock that rocks through Tony at his words leaves him grasping at his chest. In all the days they spent together, they never talked much. Tony healed Steve and the latter made sure that Tony was comfortable. Well, as comfortable a prisoner could be. 

"She was beautiful and kind.. and I was seven. Only seven and it was just us," he says, voice cracking and Tony does all but reach out to pat his shoulder. 

"Just me and ma, when a witch murdered her right in front of me."

"I was in another room, watching from behind a wall when it happened. I ran away to the woods and.. n-never looked back. I don't know what happened to her body."

A single tear rolls down his cheek and Tony feels his chest tighten. 

A mortal. Killed by _his_ kind. 

Tony can't fathom what Steve must have gone through. He had to witness his mother's murder at such a tender age and be on his own from then on. Tony himself lost his mother when he was ten, but he had his coven and father to turn to. Although the loss was irreplaceable, Tony was never alone. 

Steve turns to him, vulnerability shining bright in his eyes. He cannot help but sympathise with the man; ache for him. Even if he shouldn't be because he's being held captive, for Satan's sake. 

How cruel the ways of the universe could be. 

"I joined the Barnes' Hunters Guild then. They took me in when I was eighteen. It's been my mission to catch my mother's killer then," he says grimly. 

"And that is why I need to know what coven you belong to."

Tony purses his lips. 

"Do you know the witch that killed your mother?"

"No. But I am aware of the coven they belong to."

Tony sighs. He might as well let him know. He was at his mercy after all.

"I belong to the Church of Lilith."

A shadow passes over Steve's face. 

From his pant pocket, he draws a piece of charcoal and begins to sketch something on his hand. Tony watches impatiently, as the drawing looks more and more familiar with every stroke until- 

"That's the symbol of the Church of Lilith!"

Steve looks up at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

"The murderer was from your coven."

Tony deadpans as the implication dawns on him. 

"I may have been alive for over seventy-five years, hunter, but I have never killed a mortal."

Steve says nothing at first, only looks grim and distant. 

"I believe you," he says after a moment, looking up at Tony. 

"You healed me, your captor. I don't think those hands could kill an innocent mortal."

Tony doesn't know what to say. Steve seems to be more trusting of him, and he doesn't know what to think._ Or _feel. 

"Then let me go," Tony says, "- repay me by giving me what is my right."

Steve's features darken. 

"That is the one thing I cannot give you. I need you to help me find the murderer."

Tony bursts into laughter at that, disbelief shining in his eyes. 

"I healed you when I could have left you to die. I am now nursing you back to health, as you hold me captive, against my will. And now," he snorts, "-you want my, a witch's, help to kill another. _Are you out of your mind?"_

Steve wrings his hands and sighs. 

"I just might be. I've been looking for the killer for so long and you're the closest I've gotten to finding them. I don't want you to work _for_ me, I need you to work _with_ me."

"You want me to help find a witch from my coven and hand them over to you. Work with_ you_ and against my own _coven_. You cannot possibly, be asking me this."

"But I am. I will return your powers in exchange for your help in finding the killer. Once we find them, you are free to go."

Tony takes a shaky breath.

What Steve wasn't telling him was that he didn't really have a choice. It was either help or refuse and face certain death. 

Besides, Tony did want to catch the traitor. The witch had broken the very oath that made the coven different from the others and followed a path of its own. Broken the new rules that reigned over mortals and witches and encouraged them to be friends and not enemies. The high priest of their coven might not even be aware that such a thing had happened. And _why_ had the witch killed an innocent mortal, anyway? What were their intentions?

"How do you even know if the witch is still alive?"

Steve rubs his thumb against the palm of his hand. 

"Let me show you."

*

Tony stares at the wall with dread. Four, neatly cut newspaper clippings stare back at him. 

Steve flinches as he rests his back against the wall. "These are the murders committed by that witch. At least, supposedly. I've looked at the bodies myself. And on all of those-," he points at the symbol drawn on his hand, "-this symbol had been left. The most recent one happened two weeks ago."

Tony scans the clippings. The first of the four, Tony realises is about Steve's mother's death. 

"Has it occurred to you that the witch might not be from my coven at all?"

Steve nods. "All the more reason for you to look into this. Someone is framing your church for these murders."

Inspite of himself, Tony finds himself being impressed at how convincing and tactile Steve can be. 

"If you want me to help you, we will need to go places. If I'm out, how will you ever get me to help you?" he asks, although he already knows the answer. 

"If you leave with me, you are bound to me automatically by the spell that guards the house. There is no escape, Anthony," Steve answers and Tony wonders if he imagines the reluctance in his voice. "I _need_ you to help me."

But _Hell, _he hates him so much. And yet, he can't help but admire the cunning Steve possesses. It is almost witch-like. 

And, as much as he hates to admit it, Steve is right. If working with a hunter was the cost he had to pay to restore his coven's glory, so be it. There was a chance that Steve might be lying about setting him free, but he had to take the risk. 

"Fine. I will help you," Tony says and much to his dismay, Steve purses his lips in sympathy. "As if I have another choice. But first, I want you to return all my powers. Second, I need you to make a blood pact."

Steve looks at him questioningly. 

"An oath bound to your blood; You will never bother me or my coven again, after I help you. Fail to deliver and your blood will turn to poison."

The hunter stares at him for a moment, undoubtedly considering his options. 

"I guess I do owe you that much for saving my life."

"Oh, you owe me so much more," Tony shoots back and Steve chuckles brazenly. 

*

"We should get to my coven as soon as possible," Tony says later that night, as he stands by the window, watching the moonlight dance on the roaring waves. He massages the palm of his hand absentmindedly. The cut on his hand from the blood pact although healed, still hurts. 

Steve looks up from his seat at the infirmary table, "I don't think I can walk much yet."

Tony casts him a wry glance. "I know. At this rate, it will take you a millennia to recover."

"You should eat," Steve says, turning back to the book open before him. 

"Your concern for me is absolutely_ heart-warming_," Tony comments sarcastically. 

Steve laughs through his nose.

"I don't want you staying here for long either," he says. "But you need to eat, you can't die on me."

Tony feels a slight pang in his gut at his words. 

He dismisses it quickly, before pouring himself some of the hot broth he had made. 

*

Tony doesn't think he and Steve are becoming friends. 

He still doesn't trust the hunter much; although with the pact, chances of him betraying him are small. 

But Tony finds himself relaxing more in Steve's presence, finds himself liking the way they shoot each other down while also being equals in some ways. 

He rolls the last of the gauze from the box as Steve sits on top of the kitchen counter, clenching his teeth and red-faced. 

"Quit being such a chicken, will you," Tony mumbles, gesturing at Steve to hold out his arms. He starts to bandage his torso with the fresh gauze. 

"It_ hurts_," Steve mutters, gasping when Tony presses too tightly. 

"’Could've done this myself, you know?" 

Tony glances at him irritably. "And I would have to hear you grunting and _ooh-ing _and _aah-ing_ until it drove me mad."

Steve bites his lip at that, face reddening even more. Tony has to look away because he finds it way too endearing for it to be alright. 

*

"I've never actually killed a witch," Steve admits as they sit pouring over books, in the amber light of the tiny library that the hunter himself built. Several rows lay stacked with ancient books that he somehow possesses. 

"You keep calling me witch hunter, but I've never _really _killed a witch."

Tony looks at him questioningly, jaw set. He doesn't know if he wants to discuss this. It is easier to justify his choice of helping Steve if he pretended that he wasn't really a hunter. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know. But it's true. I've only ever caught a handful; some of which had nothing to do with the Church of Lilith, and some who-who-," he glances awkwardly at Tony, "-I had to torture to get information out of."

He looks almost ashamed and full of regret but that doesn't douse the fire that spikes through Tony at that instant. He shouldn't have been surprised or upset to find that Steve did all of those things that hunters did. 

"I'm going to go get some rest," he says, standing up abruptly and storming out of the room. In hindsight, it was a bad decision to have shown any sort of emotion really but Tony was crushed. 

He crashes onto his bed heavily, feeling that hot anger flash through him in bursts. He misses his coven, his friends and familiar more so than ever. James, Happy and all of his friends must be looking for him as well. The thought twists at his heart. 

He is truly trapped and the weight of it seems to have finally settled in, because tears begin to brim in his eyes. 

Just then a loud knock resounds in the room, and he has to bury his face into the pillow. Steve, although his only company, is the last person he wants to talk to right now.

"Tony, if you can hear me, know that I regret all of it. I've never admitted this to anybody, but if I could take it all back, I would. _Please_ believe me," Steve's muffled voice comes through the door. 

There is no reason for Steve to have walked up all those stairs to tell Tony this, and maybe that's why, a part of him wants to forgive him. But a lot of him still hates that his freedom is just a mirage; that pretend as he much as he'd like, Steve would always be a hunter. 

He decides not to respond, burying himself deeper into the mattress. He doesn't know how long he stares out of the window sullenly, or when it is that Steve leaves but the night seems to draw on for eternity, until he finally succumbs to the exhaustion. 

*

Next morning, Tony finds Steve bent over himself on the floor, clutching his chest. 

"What _happened?!" _he yells as he rushes to Steve’s side. 

He holds out bloody hands in answer. 

Tony learns, after healing Steve with a quick spell, that a part of his wound had opened up when he'd been cooking that morning. He had patched him up silently, some of the anger from last night still burning through his being.

"Hey?" Steve murmurs, grasping his hand when Tony turns to leave. "Can we talk?"

Tony shuts his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose. 

"Tony, I did what I had to do," he adds softly, regret full and genuine in his voice. 

And that's what Tony hates, hates that Steve is so genuine, so real. Despises the fact that a part of him trusts him, wants to help him while the other tears its hair in frustration. 

Steve is messing with his head and a strange, new anger burns inside him. 

"I don't care, _hunter_. You can do whatever you want. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible," he spits out, letting the anger roll of his tongue.

Steve's face visibly falls at that, and he lets go of hand and Tony suddenly feels cold all over. He turns away, not wanting to fall victim to the tricks his mind seems to be playing.

_Only tricks_, he repeats to himself as he storms to his room. _They're only tricks_. 

*

He finds Steve in the library, hunched over books as usual, after he had spent the entire day avoiding the hunter. The only thing that is odd about the sight is the bottle of rum and a half full glass beside him, on the table. 

Tony slides in next to him on the high chairs wordlessly. Steve watches silently as Tony takes the glass and brings it to his lips. Throwing his head back, he downs the liquid to its last drop, before slamming the glass onto the table. 

Steve throws him an amused look, a subtle smile playing at his lips. "By all means, make yourself at home."

"You're messing with my head," Tony declares, turning to look at Steve. He seems to be half drunk too, which he can tell from the half-open eyes and slur. 

Steve frowns at him, suddenly looking serious. 

"How?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Tony retorts, rolling his eyes. He reaches over to grab the bottle but Steve pulls it away from his reach. 

"I don't know," Steve replies, flipping the book shut and pushing it (and the bottle) to the far corner of the table. 

Tony squints at Steve. "I've done things that I regret too, you know?"

Steve cocks his head. "I'm sure you have."

"But I've tried to be better. _Do _better-"

"Why do-" Steve interrupts but Tony places a finger against his lips, silencing him. A tinge of red dusts Steve's cheeks but Tony's already slipping under the alcohol's influence and doesn't notice. 

"O’ Hell, would you let me finish?"

Steve nods and Tony drops his hand. 

"I've regretted them every second I have lived. And now I am here, sitting with you, a hunter I _saved._ Should be the biggest regret of my life."

Steve looks down at his palms. "You keep saying that. But I'm not a hunter."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, only breathes heavily. Steve blurs a little out of his vision before his outline comes into focus again. 

"Say what you will. Believe what you will. You are and will _always _be a hunter. And I should _hate_ you," he says, the words sounding like poison on his tongue. 

Steve adverts his eyes and Tony's gut twists. 

_"But I can't." _His words are almost a whisper, he’s not entirely sure if he said them out loud.

Steve looks up at that, blinking. 

"I.. I regret everything I have ever done. Perhaps, ma would've hated me for choosing this path. F-for wanting to avenge her. But she was my mother and I was seven. It's no excuse but.. if it hadn't happened...I wouldn't be here. Nor would you," he says, voice raspy as if he's struggling to get the words out. 

Tony glances awkwardly at the glass and then back at him. Steve's eyes are shining with tears and Tony's heart almost stops.

"I never wanted to harm another person but the hatred that my guild has towards your kind...it fueled my need to find the killer," he says, and he's sobbing now; this hunk of a man who suddenly seems so small, so tiny, as he curls into himself. 

"I-I don't know what I've become. But hunting for her killer.. it's all I've ever known."

Tony reaches over to hold Steve's hand, his body acting on its own accord. A heartbeat passes as Steve stares up at him with big, round eyes.

"Promise me," Tony says, staring into those ocean eyes, "Promise me, that you'll stop once you've caught the killer." 

Steve blinks at him, making the tears spill faster than ever. "It was what I had planned. I would stop once I found the wretched bastard. But.. I-I promise.."

A strange calm washes over Tony at his words. He blames it on the alcohol, but knows in his heart that it isn't the liquor that makes him do what he does next. 

He pulls Steve close and kisses him, a strange fire bursting through his body at the contact. Steve, to his mild surprise doesn't pull back, instead, only slumps against him, as if all of the strings restraining him had been cut off. Tony let's his hands curl through Steve's hair, feeling the rush of blood and alcohol roar in his ears. He can taste the last of the rum on his lips and mint; freshness that sets his body humming. 

Steve wraps his arms around him eliciting a moan from him. His hands drop to Steve's shoulder, as Steve untucks his shirt out of his pants. He pulls away for a moment, hesitating as his hands ghosts the front of Steve's shirt. The latter chases after him, staring intently at the dip of lips like he wants them and Tony knows better than to push him away. 

Before long, Steve's shirt is on the floor. Tony can see the now dark red scars down his front and he hesitantly runs his finger over them. Steve shudders at his touch. 

"I never thanked you for healing me. For agreeing to help me. I don't know why you did it, but- but I am grateful. And. And I am sorry. For making you go through all of this," Steve whispers against his lips, words tumbling over one another in his effort to be earnest. 

"You should've never been a part of this," he adds, lifting Tony's chin with one finger. He looks alert all of a sudden, as if coming to a realisation. His words slur but his tone is fierce when he says, "I set you free, Tony. I amsorry I kept you against your will. _I am sorry we had to meet this way_."

The words settle over Tony like thick skin. He is_ finally_ free from his chains. He could walk out the door right now, the very thing he has been thinking about since he got here, and never come back, never see Steve again. The thought leaves him feeling empty in a tiny part of his heart. His mind is its own master at the moment, all of his feelings and desires oozing out of his being unfiltered.

Deep in their hearts, perhaps they both knew that there was something indescribable between them. Something more than raw attraction, but also _not_ something that was always meant to be.

It had simply been woven into existence when their paths had crossed. 

Tony decides to not say anything in answer and pulls Steve into him again, shutting off the myriad of feelings and thoughts hurtling through his brain. He hopes that his actions convey what he wants to say. That for once, he let that _one part_ of him rule over the other. That for once, he _wants_ this as complex as it might make things. He runs his free hand over the curves and lines of Steve's body, committing them to memory. 

He could always leave _tomorrow_. 

_"Kiss me like you mean it," _his eyes seem to say. And so, Steve does.

Everywhere that Steve touches him, grazes his teeth against, sends a sliver of sparks down Tony's back. The bliss of alcohol and Steve's gentle touches and squeezes is nothing short of electric. 

If Tony didn't know better, he'd have thought it was magic. 

*

Tony jolts up in his bed, as if he's been shaken awake. It is still dark outside but the first tendrils of dawn are starting to blossom across the sky. 

He winces when the vein in his temple throbs slightly. All of the rum that he unceremoniously downed last night is finally taking affect. 

_Last night. _

Tony can still feel the ghost of Steve's lips in places that make him blush, still taste him on the tip of his tongue, still smell him in the sheets strewn around him. 

And then it hits him, the realisation that Steve isn't there next to him._ Where is he? _

A dull thud comes from somewhere outside the room just then, startling Tony. Straining his ear, he hears loud voices coming from below. His body reacts before he can and the hairs on his neck stand up. Before he can take action of any sort, the handle on his door turns and someone slips in. 

It's Steve. 

"Satan's Horn, you scared me," he breaths, clutching the sheets to his chest but falters when he sees the look on Steve's face. 

"The other hunters... they are here. They know about you," Steve says, a frantic look in his eyes. 

Tony looks at him, shocked. For a horribly numbing moment he thinks Steve has double-crossed him. After everything they went through and last night- he opens his mouth in question but Steve answers him before he says a word. 

"I didn't tell them, I swear. They must've put a spell on this place. I've told them to wait downstairs so I can fetch you." 

Tony blinks at him, heart beating wildly against his chest. _Was he to die today? _His mind seems to have shut down, fear seizing his body completely. 

"I can't hand you over," Steve says, gripping his shoulders. "I've never lied to you, Tony. I need you to believe me. I- I like you. You saved me and in spite of everything, I fell for you, as the gods would have it. I need you to trust me."

Everything seems to be moving at the speed of lightning. Mere hours ago, he had been in Steve's embrace and now Steve is asking him to run away.

Tony's body tingles with electricity, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as his powers take control, ready to defend him. A billion questions burn through his mind and he blurts the first thing that comes to him. 

"Steve, you're not fully healed-"

"I almost am. I'll tell them that you fled, I'll make up some excuse. I can hold them off. They cannot harm me," Steve says, handing Tony his clothes that he immediately shimmies into. 

"You could tell them that I'm not like the other witches-"

"They won't listen. They'll burn you before they give you a chance to speak, you need to go. Now,"

As if on cue, Tony picks up footsteps coming up the staircase. Steve glances at the door and then pushes him frenziedly towards the large window beside the bed. 

Tony hesitates as he climbs atop the bed. He could stay. He could help Steve fend off the other hunters. He could run away with him and they could start afresh.

"I could stay and help you fight," he breathes, trying to shake off the cold feeling that's turning his stomach to concrete. 

Steve shakes his head. 

"No more of that. I already freed you last night and...” he stops for a moment, seeming lost but shakes himself out of it seconds later. 

“I, Steven Grant Rogers of the Barnes' Guild, free Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the Church of Lilith from his binding," he chants quickly, eyes wide with fear. 

The effect is almost immediate; Tony feels like a blanket has been lifted off of him. 

There is a dull knock on the door and Tony's heart threatens to burst out of his chest. 

"_Run,_" Steve whispers assertively and Tony sees remorse and... something else in those azure eyes. He wants to look away, lest it burn him completely. He can't bring himself to. Instead, he pulls Steve close and kisses him, with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He tastes fire, regret and a flash of the future that leaves him gasping for air. 

_“Memento mei,” _he whispers against his lips, letting the power of the words settle into Steve’s being.

When they break away, Steve grabs his hand before he can climb onto the window sill. The remorse in his eyes has been replaced by something brighter and in his heart, Tony knows just what it is. 

"I'll find you," Steve breaths, eyes glinting like wildfire and Tony nods meekly, at a loss for words. 

Steve seems to sense his hesitation and squeezes his hand. 

"_I'll find you_," he says again, finally letting go of his hand and nodding reassuringly. 

There's promise in the way he smiles at him, a little dazed but with such surety that Tony can't help but believe him. 

With that promise and the image of crinkling blue eyes, Tony summons his broom and leaps into the darkness below. 

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a cliffhanger? Who knows :-) Let me know if you would like to read more of the story!
> 
> P.S: If you looked up what "memento mei" means, I love you forever.


End file.
